


You Come Down

by orphan_account



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU, Episode: s01e01 Apéritif, M/M, Multi, Possible Character Death, Psychoactive subtance use, Slow Burn, Team Sassy Science, but i have issues with killing off my babies so idk, hannibal is a god au, possible OCs, substance use, this is gonna be fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-04-23 02:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 19,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4859966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal is an ancient god. Will is part of his cult. Inspired by this post: http://lamby-grahamy.tumblr.com/post/128966151932/chaosordoffl-rootingformephistopheles</p><p>Written by an actual polytheist, so I maybe got the basics right???</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take my Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shakespeareishq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespeareishq/gifts).



> This now has a playlist on Spotify, which I suggest y'all take a listen to. The vibe of the fic is perfectly captured in these songs, tbh.
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/mothership12/playlist/7szw8nDoECzF9ebzWqVb8J
> 
> Just copypasta into your browser and you're good to go!
> 
> So?????? This has a fanmix not made by me????????? Thank you to shakespeareishq! 
> 
> http://rootingformephistopheles.tumblr.com/post/130660083622/i-bring-to-you-a-sacrifice-a-fanmix-for-you-come

_In his hand he held a blade of sharpened black stone, his eyes turning bloody like the knife he held. And he said to the intruders, as if had not just drawn down the lifeblood of their conspirator and reduced him to sticky cracked bones, "Good morning."_

_His destruction was something to behold._

 

The night was dark. Smoky. The sky crackled with something that wasn't quite malevolence but something just as watchful. Will knew what it was, deep in his core. He didn't think any harder than that.

The bones on his back rattled with every step he took, and the furs around his neck hung heavy and hot in the chill night. His breath steamed out in front of him and his lantern caught the vapor, its light bouncing off the trees. A thin layer of frost and twigs crunched under his boots. Sweat ran down his temple. He shivered and trudged onward, up the hill. 

From a distance, it would seem that the trees and the dark simply swallowed him as he disappeared into the forest. That perception was not necessarily wrong. Up close, however, it did not so much as swallow him but embrace him. 

Will did not stop to drink from the canteen that swung at his hip, but continued to battle up the hill as it became steeper and steeper. When he had made it a mile and a half up the path, he paused to look back at his progress. He smoothed the furs and retied the bones in their careful bundle, and walked up to stand at the exposed top of the hill. No, it was a mountain. A small one, but a mountain all the same.

He took a left down a deer path and back down into a thick tunnel of trees. Will had to hunch to make it through, but it was something he was accustomed to. He knew the way well. This mountain had been his pilgrimage every month since he was five. It wasn't trouble to come up here anymore.

Will emerged from the tunnel of trees and found himself in a clearing of sorts. He couldn't see the sky through the canopy of branches he was under, but the space was clear and large, maybe twenty yards across one way, thirty another. A boulder stood near the edge of the clearing and a huge slab of polished marble presented itself in the middle.

He walked up to the slab, knelt, and laid down his burden. The bones gently clacked against the marble, and the furs spilled over the side. He took a cut of game meat wrapped in parchment paper, a pack of matches, and a small bottle of oil--skullcap, adder's tongue, Low John--from his backpack, and set his canteen down. It was difficult to set everything up; his fingers were growing stiff and numb in the blue dark.

This had been much easier when he was younger, and there were more people to participate. The hike wasn't hard, because everyone would carry different things.

Now was not time to long for the old days.

Will took three small pieces of firewood from his backpack and went to the boulder to retrieve more, where a large pile waited under the rock's shelter. He stacked the wood on the slab and doused it with oil, then pulled off his shoes.

He lit a match, and began to chant words he'd known since the age of five:

"Architect of Blood and Bone  
Catalyst of the Becoming  
Father of smoke and spark  
I invite You to sit at my table, warm your Self by my fire  
I invite you to share a meal, borne of sacrifice and preparation, by my side.  
Come down from the pines and the cold  
Sit at my table, sleek shadow man.  
And decide how you will mold me."

The fire was blazing hot by the time he finished the first part of his speech.

Will moved the bones and the furs down the slab, then unwrapped the meat.

"I bring to you a sacrifice, one of dark woods and muscle and life  
One that had teeth and a pelt and a pulse  
A racing, rushing pulse.  
May you be pleased  
May you be satisfied."

The surrounding trees gave an inhale, and Will grabbed the canteen and stood over the fire.

"And here I give you wine, red and dark like that pulse of life, that outpour of death  
Here I give you something to hold in your mouth  
To let linger on your tongue:  
A suspension as sure as how you have suspended me."

He poured most of the contents of the canteen into the fire, which only grew in intensity, casting light across the clearing. He drank what was left. "A bit to keep me going, knowing that we have the same fire running through us."

Will sat down abruptly. That last part wasn't scripted. He had the sudden urge to wrap the furs around himself.

A flicker of amusement ran through the clearing, and he felt hot breath on the back of his neck for an instant. Part of him wanted to believe it was the fire. The part of him that knew better was silent. He settled the meat into the fire, suddenly not hungry, and waited until everything had burnt to cinders before he stood and neatly stacked the bones on the slab. 

They were animal bones--ribs and a femur, half a clavicle that was not an animal's.

Those and the furs would be gone in the morning, if he bothered to check. The shadow man always took his offerings.

Will arrived home at two in the morning to a pair of antlers on his porch. Reverently, he took them inside and fell into bed, went straight to sleep as soon as his face hit the pillow. 

*

The next morning he woke with a throbbing headache and a stiff neck. Light streamed in through his window and his dogs were piled on the floor next to the bed. If his bare feet weren't dirty and his shirt wasn't splattered with wine and blood, there would be no indication that the ritual had taken place last night.

It was nice--something he could keep completely separate from the rest of his life. It was also something deep and primal, something that made his muscles clench and thrum with adrenaline and life.

Will rolled out of bed and stretched for a minute, then wandered out of his bedroom and into the upstairs bathroom. He welcomed the comfort of a hot shower, and luxuriated within it as long as he could. He didn't feel like teaching today.

He got dressed and made himself a piece of toast, grabbed some coffee on the way out.

*

They dubbed him the Minnesota Shrike for how he killed. He had taken seven victims officially, eight by that morning. Jack Crawford, head of the Behavioral Psych wing, Jack Crawford _himself_ was asking Will to consult. He supposed it was more interesting than teaching college students, anyway.

"So what is it about all these girls?" Jack asked him, an undertone of desperation in his voice.

Will thought for a moment, reviewing the file once more. "It's not about all of them. It's about one of them." _His golden ticket,_ said a voice in the back of his head, a voice he instinctively knew was not his. Okay. Confirmation. Good. "He's like Willy Wonka. Every girl he takes is a candy bar, and hidden in amongst those candy bars is his uh, his golden ticket." He felt, rather than heard, a deep hum of satisfaction. About then he thought he should really be scared. But it just. It felt natural, too natural to be anything but the shadow man.

Jack folded his arms and they continued their back-and-forth; Will felt like he was being interrogated rather than consulted.

They left to see the Nichols family soon after. Couldn't waste time, after all.

He waited while Jack consoled the family and gently pulled answers out of them. Will knew he was missing a crucial detail, something they had to have overlooked--

 _The cat,_ murmured the shadow man. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second as the realization and all of its implications came rushing into him. "How's the cat?"

Mrs. Nichols looked up. "What?"

"How's your cat? Elise was supposed to feed it. Was the cat weird when you came home? It must've been hungry. It didn't eat all weekend."

"I. I didn't notice."

Jack caught Will's eye, then nodded to the Nichols. "Could you give us a moment, please?"

*

When Will arrived home that night, he was one dog richer. Out on the porch, after giving the mutt a bath and a name (Winston), he poured himself two fingers of whiskey and settled into his chair. The wicker creaked pleasantly and his joints relaxed. 

He could almost forget today happened.

 

Later, once he and the dogs were inside, he took notice of the antlers still on his kitchen counter where he'd left them in the dark part of the morning. He left them where they were. He didn't have enough energy to find a place for them tonight.

*

The next morning, he woke early to the smell of cooking bacon. The dogs were not in a pile by his bed, and it was still barely dark outside. Will sat up, suddenly very concerned, and noticed that the antlers were hanging on the wall opposite his bed. 

A chill went through him. Who was in his house?

He crept out of bed, taking hold of his rifle as he went, and made his way down the stairs and through his dining room.

There, in his kitchen, stood a striking man in an immaculate suit. Without looking up from the bacon he was frying, he said, "Good morning, Will." And he said it in the shadow man's dark voice.

"Who are you and what the _hell_ are you doing in my house?" Will said, though part of him had come to the conclusion already.

"Will, I think you know me already. We've been speaking, albeit a repetitive conversation, since you were five years old."

"I'm going to ask you again, and you are going to give me a straight answer, okay?"

"Certainly." He looked up then, and held Will's gaze. His eyes were a glimmering red, contained something sharp and predatory. Will felt both chilled and warmed by his gaze. "I am your Shadow Man. Lecter."

Will knew his shaking hands betrayed his fear, but couldn't speak.

"Is it not so hard to believe that a god who has been on earth for millennia could make himself known to his most loyal devotee?"

"Am I hallucinating you? Is that it? Am I going nuts?" 

A tinge of amusement in his eyes. "If that is what you wish to believe, I can indulge it. I'll be here when you get back." He tipped the contents of the pan out onto a chipped plate. "Before you leave, it would be a good idea to eat."

Will moved closer and cautiously took the plate. It felt pretty real. There was a real-looking bacon scramble steaming on the white porcelain. It smelled real. He let out a shaky sigh and sat down at his table. If it turned out to be a hallucination he could get something from a vending machine in between teaching and working on finding the Shrike. 

Will commended himself for being so calm about this.

He took a bite. Okay. Even if this wasn't real, it was a damn good scramble. "Would it be bad form to ask why you're here?" 

Lecter sat down noiselessly across from him. "No. It would be logical."

"Will you answer me?"

"Perhaps."

"Okay, so why are you here?" 

Lecter tilted his head, and in that moment he appeared utterly alien. Of course he would. He was a god. Sitting in Will's dining room. "I am here because you interest me."

Oh no. 

"Not in the way you're thinking, Will. I cultivated your gift, and so I understand it. I am not interested in that."

"Okay, so what about me interests you?"

At that, Lecter was silent. 

Will took another bite of scramble. "Any other reason why you're here?"

"You're attempting to catch the Minnesota Shrike, are you not?"

"And?"

"This Shrike is acquainted with me as well. I am...curious to see which of you is superior."

Suddenly, Will wasn't hungry anymore. If the Shrike was a devotee, Will realized at least part of his motive. "I thought the human sacrifice was a metaphor."

"You preserved my writings?"

"My family did." 

"It's only half a metaphor. I prefer it to animal offerings."

Will pressed his lips together. 

"There are many kinds of sacrifice, Will. A literal interpretation is not my fault."

A long pause. "I've gotta go."

"Of course. I will see you soon."

"See...see you soon." And then he left, still wanting to stay and not knowing what else to do.

*

Will took a step towards the body, displayed on a rack of antlers like the crime scene was a kabuki production. He said as much to Jack.

This was not the Shrike. But he had an idea of who it could be.

He stepped away from the scene and took a few breaths. Part of him was screaming about how he could worship a god who went into the world and killed people, who required human sacrifice. It was screaming at him to stop.

The other part of him, nurtured by the deep black soil and dark water he'd grown up around? That part merely blinked, intrigued, and kept out of it. 

Will couldn't exactly call up a god on his cell and ask him what the hell he was thinking, though that was an appealing option right about now. Well. He couldn't exactly use a phone, but perhaps if he prayed? He shoved his hands in his pockets, got close to the body again like he was inspecting it further, and whispered, "Lecter, I know what you did."

Nothing but radio silence, except for the gears turning in Will's head. There had to be a purpose to this murder. What was different?

He ran it over in his head until he came to the realization. Lecter had shown him the photo negative so he could see the positive.

A huff of laughter, quickly suppressed. "You can't see which one of us is superior if you give me help."

_Who's to say you're the only one I'm helping?_

Ignoring that, he proceeded to tell Jack his thoughts, omitting Lecter and carefully stepping around all the tricky bits.

Will went and had lunch with the team. It was easier than thinking about going home.

 

_His sacrifice is one of rending teeth and bloody hearts while the carrion crows shriek above him. He will let them have none._


	2. Bury Me Back to my Birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There used to be many more in the Groves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, I've gotten such a great resoonse to this! Thank you all so much.
> 
> Here's a short chapter to tide you over until next time.

_Seek him out beneath the summer oaks and join yourselves under his watch. Bring him blood and dark peat moss; there is protection in his deep stare._

In summers past, Will would run along the forest trails no matter the heat or the cold. His parents and their friends would trail behind, with their coolers and a portable barbecue, some battery-powered lanterns. He and his friend, Garrett, would climb the trees and pretend they were birds or pirates or, on one memorable occasion, cops and robbers. 

While they did this, their parents would join around the marble slab and perform their rituals, and then invite the kids down for lemonade and pulled pork sandwiches, done Carolina style. There was always a strange energy around the slab while they ate, and no matter how many times his parents called him away from it, Will would end up eating there.

In later years, in Will's teens, after his mother died, the group began to fall apart. When he was younger, he didn't understand her importance; he was learning the different rituals now. One or two of them, the ones the parents kept their kids home for, gave him a clue.

He and Garrett spent a lot of time together whenever Will was in the state. They'd horse around in the river and go for burgers in town, then come home and study. It was always summer when Will was around, and so they'd sit under the sky blue porch ceiling, the fan making a lazy breeze in the sticky heat, and they'd read or just chatter about life during the school year.

Will's sophomore year, his father had enough money to send him to a Catholic school on partial scholarship. The uniforms were scratchy and embroidered with a tiny Chi Rho over the left breast pocket. Looking at it made him uncomfortable.

The mandatory religion classes made him even more so. He'd sit inside a stuffy classroom for an hour and learn about the "glory" of their god, when he wished nothing more than to go outside, take everyone out, show them the power of the Great Shadow.

Sitting through the weekly masses was worse. People gave him odd looks when he never crossed himself. Luckily, it never came to confrontation, though he had to admit he wanted it to.

Sophomore year passed without incident, and he and his father moved on like they always did.

He spent an afternoon with Garrett learning how to hunt. The next evening, they went out into the river and Will taught him how to fish better than his old man taught him.

"You can't take the fight to the fish, Hobbs," he'd said, "You can't even stalk it. You have to wait."

"Do you know me or do you really think I'm that patient?"

Will had shrugged, dappled sunlight warm on his right cheek. "I dunno, but your pants are coming unrolled."

The next summer, Will was still small and wiry, still "a Southern little shit" as Garrett called him, but his voice had finally deepened and he actually had to shave more than twice a week. Money was tighter. He helped the Hobbs family pack up their house and move north so they could get an in-state tuition for Garrett's college.

He wished he were going with.

The reason money was tight was because his father had finally fallen into a depression, something he'd been teetering on the edge of for months. Couldn't get a job anywhere because he didn't look. Will knew it wasn't his father's fault, but it didn't make his senior year any less hungry.

They stopped going to the groves, and Will's phone number changed more than a couple times. He and Garrett lost touch, and he and the Great Shadow didn't speak for years. Not til Will was out of college.

It left an empty space in him. Nothing watched him from the darker corners anymore. He got into fights.

When he got the job in New Orleans, he finally made contact again.

_Give him your devotion and nothing will fail. Put up walls and you shall be alone._


	3. Mouth Open Wide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaah you guys are all so amazing thank youuuuuu for the amazing responses to this!
> 
> I love you all.
> 
> Okay, enjoy.

_She carried his head deep into the woods, knowing he would follow._

As soon as he opened the door, he was greeted by a distant "Good evening, Will," and the scent of searing meat from the kitchen.

"You're not gone."

"I'm afraid not." Plates clattered. "Sit down. Share a meal with me."

Will swallowed and stepped forward. First, to the kitchen. When he arrived there, he noticed all his dogs sitting near Lecter as he cooked, no doubt waiting for something tasty. If they could see him too, he most likely wasn't a hallucination.

The implications of this were somehow more disturbing than if Lecter were part of a fever dream.

Lecter looked up from his cooking. "Hello."

Will kept a healthy distance. "Hi." He wondered absently how long the god would be staying. Wait. If this wasn't a hallucination then it meant he had a god in his kitchen. A god. A fucking god. Cooking.

"It's just hitting you now, isn't it?"

His throat went dry. "Sorry?"

"The fact that you've worshipped me since the age of five and here I am, in your kitchen, searing lamb and having a conversation with you. I believe that's what you're realizing now, yes?"

He nodded. 

Lecter's lips twitched, and he took the pan off the burner. "You'll be eating with me?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"You always have a choice."

"I think I'll eat."

"Good."

Will made no move to sit at the table, just stood in the doorway.

"It's good that you're wary, but I'd like to serve dinner." He had two plates of food--Will hadn't even noticed him taking the lamb from the pan. He stepped aside. Lecter put the plates at opposite ends of the table and sat at the foot, which should have struck Will as more unusual than it did.

A thread of devotional writing trailed through his mind: _He is forever the courteous predator and will strike from the foot of your table whether you're careful or not._

He'd expected vengeance and destruction, not lamb and conversation. Although. He might very well get both. Will joined him at the table, at the head, and neatly unfolded his napkin and spread it in his lap. 

They ate, and Will thought dinner was remarkable. The two were silent for the first part of it, and then Lecter poured the wine. He sat again, and Will felt his gaze on his face. He didn't look up.

"Will."

"Yes?"

"How goes the hunt?"

He blinked. "For the Shrike?"

A small nod. 

"Better now, since you helped me out." He shifted in his chair, and took a sip of wine, leaving his utensils on his empty plate. "I..." He paused, unsure of how to phrase his objections, his revulsion.

"You may speak plainly."

"I understand what you did and why you did it. I know it's what you're known for. But it was unnecessarily cruel."

"I am a cruel god, Will."

"I understand that." He fought to keep his voice calm. "I just--"

"You are just thoroughly disturbed."

"I thought most of it was metaphorical. The things they wrote."

"Put that behind you." He stood, and began to clear the table. "Am I still welcome in your home?"

Will stayed silent. 

"I would like to walk with you. Would you come to my grove?" 

"I. Sure."

Deep red eyes bored into him. "You do have a choice."

"I said yes. Let me get my coat."

*

The air was crisp and smoky, as it had been three nights ago. The sky was once again dark, but the watchful air came from Lecter, not from their surroundings. Of course, the watchful air may have been coming from Lecter all along. Will's shoulders were tense, uncomfortably so. 

Neither of them spoke. Neither of them carried a thing. 

Their feet in the dust made the only sounds Will could hear. When they came to the top of the hill, Lecter paused a moment. "Will," he said.

"Yes?"

"What made you come back to me?"

He shifted from foot to foot. "I guess New Orleans. Why do you want to know?"

"I was simply curious."

"How many people still worship you?"

Lecter brought his hands together gently. "Not as many as I would like. There are still groups in Appalachia, in my home country. More remote places in Europe."

"You're originally Lithuanian, right?"

"Yes." He took a breath. "We should continue." He walked on without checking to see if Will followed. Will followed anyway. 

"Is there a reason we're coming out here?" he asked, as he caught up to the god's long strides through the tunnel. 

"I wished to walk with you."

Will sighed through his nose. Lecter wasn't any less withholding now than when Will was younger.

"I also wanted to sit in the night and the quiet for a while. It isn't often that I stretch my legs on your plane of existence."

"Why with me? It's probably quieter without me."

"Your presence pleases me."

Will couldn't help the glow of pleasure that warmed his chest. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me for something you do." He pulled aside a large branch and stepped to the side, indicating that Will should enter the grove first. He did.

He'd meant for it to be gratitude for Lecter saying so, but the grove settled a hush over him and so he couldn't clarify what he'd meant.

Lecter moved silently past him, the barest hint of moonlight shining between the leaves and almost making him glow. Will sat at the edge of the grove, not wanting to disturb the peace. The god moved forward with the grace of a dancer until he was standing at the edge of the slab.

Slowly, he turned towards his devotee.

Will stood, not of his own accord, and joined him.

The silence was tangible, and the god was bright, and everything seemed so still. So still he was afraid that breathing would disturb it, and for a while he held his breath, content to watch the moonlight dapple on the ground between the leaves.

At some point he breathed again, and found that it did not disturb the silence.

His eyes flicked to Lecter, at his left, whose chin was tilted back, exposing a silken throat, cut by silver and white. He took deep breaths, his eyes half-closed, and leaned back into the dark's support. His profile was elegant and weathered, but in the dark he truly looked like he could be a god. He looked powerful, yet contained. The moment of serenity before chaos breaks out.

And then he straightened, as if feeling Will's gaze on him, and looked at his devotee, eyes two dark garnets in a pale, sharp face. And he smiled, revealing sharp hunter's teeth.

Will swallowed, a static chill running down his spine.

"Have you enjoyed the quiet enough?" he whispered, voice cutting through the air.

Will blinked. "Are you done?"

"I am never done. But it would be wrong of me to make you walk back alone."

"We don't have to go," he said. Deference was always a good idea. His mother'd said that. 

"Would it make you feel better if I told you I wanted to leave, too?" Lecter turned to face him fully. "Your mother taught you well for formal interactions, but I don't wish for complete formality with you. I need to get the measure of you, not merely the measure of your manners."

Will blinked. "But--"

"Having a polite disposition and having excellent manners are two entirely different things."

"Neither of which I have."

A pause. "Perhaps that is why I find you so endearing."

Shock did not even begin to cover what Will was feeling just then. "You find me endearing?"

"Why do you think I've appeared to you?" Lecter looked away. "We should leave, now. It is late." 

They left the grove, and Will followed behind him the entire time feeling that nothing made sense.

_He makes things happen, and they amuse him. On the rare occasion that they impress him, he comes down from his place in the shadows and the trees, and he picks them apart, for almost nothing is more powerful than his curiosity. There is no short-term purpose to what he does. Understand this, and take it to heart. Truly, he wishes to be close to the things that impress him, to possess them, to know them and to bind with them._

_Do not impress the Great Shadow. It will cost you much and you will see no reward for it._


	4. Peel Back my Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am completely overwhelmed by the response I've gotten, guys! Thank you so much--every comment just makes my day so much brighter.
> 
> As a gift, here is chapter four, a day early. If you haven't caught on to the pattern I'm following (which is totally fine), you get alternating past/present chapters.
> 
> This one is past. :)
> 
> Also, fishing is perhaps one of my favorite things to do so this was a fun few hundred words to write!
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy.

Will settled into his apartment in New Orleans within two days. Of course, only having a box and a suitcase really did help with that. It took him longer to make friends, as truly, he didn't want any. He was fine with being alone. The people at the station gave him a wide berth. The people getting called into the station, however, did not.

Her name was Mathilda, and her family was large and Haitian. She was a lawyer--he met her through her client, who'd been arrested for something minor and couldn't afford to pay the fine--and she took an immediate and sincere interest in Will and his friendship. At first, he kept things curt, kept them polite, but she figured out he had a passion for fishing and it was all over.

She preferred lake fishing without a bobber. Will thought that was as good a way to catch Louisiana by the ass as any, but she insisted on taking him out in her rowboat one weekend they both had off. She also insisted on rowing. Mathilda caught a couple bullhead and one exceptional catfish that they ate for lunch. Will caught three crawdads and a bluegill. She never stopped laughing about it.

In return, he taught her how to fly fish, and they went out into the river near the lake in shorts and ball caps. They caught nothing because Mathilda kept getting her line caught in the surrounding trees, but the Tassot and fried pickles she'd brought for lunch made up for lack of a catch.

"We went fishing," she said through a mouthful of meat and a giggle, "but we didn't go catching, huh?"

"Gods, that was horrible," Will said, but he didn't bother to conceal his laughter.

She'd looked at him sideways. "Gods?" Will had instantly sobered, waiting for a Haitian Catholic rant (his father had left him with a lovely older woman when he was a little kid who needed to be watched; she was very prim, very proper, and went on fire and brimstone rants often), and was surprised when Mathilda smiled. "What do you practice?"

"I...don't. Practice." He'd set down his plate. "Not anymore."

"I do."

And that was how he was dragged to a Vodou service in Mathilda's backyard, led by her aunt, a mambo. Later, Will would have a blank space in his memory that made up the bulk of the service, but he remembered dancing and drinking and laughing.

He remembered stumbling into his apartment sometime very late or very early, depending on which side of the night he wanted to look at it from, and he remembered trying to construct a shrine on his kitchen nook's bar, because the service had awoken something in him that wanted to honor the shadows and the Shadow Man again.

Will had woken up with a headache and smile on his face. The space next to him in bed was weighed down by someone, the sheets pulled taut over his shoulders, but when he rolled over, there was nobody there and the weight was gone. All that remained was a feeling of soft breath and the scent of spiced cider and musk.

He set up a proper shrine in his cabinet before he ate breakfast.


	5. You Could Always Make the Lakes Fill Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so overwhelmed by the response I've gotten--thank you guys so much! 
> 
> *offers hugs and cookies for everyone*
> 
> Enjoy!

_He takes what he wants. It is fruitless to try and stop him._

Will woke the next morning with the dogs piled in bed with him, Buster hogging the pillow and Winston curled under the covers. The heat was off and the windows were open, and there was a patch of ice on his windowsill. He sighed. His first thought was something along the lines of _dammit, Lecter_ , and then an internal wince. Hopefully Lecter didn't hear that. Quiet laughter rumbled in his head, and he sat up, upsetting a lump of dog on his chest in the process.

Lecter was sitting on his bedroom floor, his dress shirt sleeves folded up to his elbows and his feet bare. Will's shrine cabinet was open.

"Good morning, Will," he said, gaze still fixed on the shrine.

"What are you doing in my bedroom?"

"Just basking." He turned, and Will saw a subtle smile on his face. "If you want me to leave, I will. But your shrine is well-kept and I appreciate it."

Small bones, bits of shell and fur and bone china offering plates, silk and beads and sinew. "I'm glad you do. I need to get dressed, though." Buster woke suddenly and hopped down to the floor. "Would you mind closing the windows and putting the heat back on?"

"Certainly." He got to his feet in one fluid movement, closed Will's window, and left the room. Will sighed and checked his phone.

He had an hour until he had to be at work. There was enough time to shower, as long as his pipes weren't fucking frozen.

*

Will's flight to Hibbing, Minnesota left three hours after he arrived at work. Inwardly he cursed at Jack for springing this on him, and when he was done with that he found someone to watch the dogs for the next couple of days. Then he called the house to warn Lecter. 

No one picked up. Will swore. 

Jack called Will into his office. Will swore again, attempted to push his glasses up his nose and smudged the lens with his thumb. He pushed into the office, frantically polishing his glasses on his shirt, put them back on, and stopped short.

Lecter was sitting across from Jack like he belonged there. Will felt the blood drain from his face. Ohhhhh no. Oh no.

"Will, I'd like you to meet Dr. Lecter. He's a psychiatrist--helping consult on the Shrike case."

_What are you doing?_ he thought. Lecter smiled. 

"Uh," Will started, "Hello."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Lecter's glittering eyes turned on Jack, then. "How many confessions?"

Jack scrubbed a hand over his face. "Twelve dozen last time I checked. None of them had details until this morning."

Will sat down.

Jack continued. "Some genius in Duluth PD took a photograph of Elise Nichols' body and shared it with his buddies. Freddie Lounds got a hold of it and posted it on tattlecrime.com."

"Tasteless," Will muttered. 

"Do you often have trouble with taste, Will?" Lecter asked. Will would have thought something nasty had Lecter not had access to his brain.

"My thoughts aren't tasty." _You should know._

"I would imagine not." 

The silence hung for a moment, and Will stood. "I need to catch a plane, Jack. Remember?" 

"Dr. Lecter'll accompany you."

Great. Great. This was just fantastic. "Alright. Hope you've packed, Doctor."

*

As soon as they were in the car, Will stopped holding his tongue. "How--What--I don't even know what to ask you because _I don't know how you did that!_ "

"A small manipulation in the fabric of his reality won't hurt anyone."

"He thinks you're a psychiatrist. With a thriving practice. Oh my g--oh my _you_."

A small laugh escaped Lecter's lips. "You should read my paper on social exclusion. It was apparently very enlightening."

Will smacked on his turn signal. "And why did you feel that was necessary?"

"I wanted to observe what you and the Shrike are like together. I was also tired of your home and the hills, though through no fault of theirs."

He sighed through his nose. "Okay. Okay."

"It's also amusing to see you so off-kilter."

"I'm not talking to you."

A snort from the passenger seat. Will refused to look at Lecter's face.

They pulled into the airport parking lot and made it through security and to the gate with minutes to spare before boarding. The two took their seats on the plane (coach, last row, closest to the lavatories), Lecter taking the window and Will letting him because _he was not talking to him, dammit._ It didn't matter that he was a god. In fact, that made it worse. Couldn't he have tagged along some other way? 

The plane landed before Will was done fuming. He was angry when they picked up a rental car.

He was still muttering to himself on the drive to the motel. 

Part of him worried what being angry at such a powerful creature could entail, but the other part of him, the woefully stupid part of him, didn't care.

They checked in, dropped their bags off in their room, and then were off to the construction site Beverly and the rest of forensics tagged as the most likely place to find the Shrike. 

"This really would go more smoothly if you were willing to speak to me. The employees may be...unsettled by the tension."

Will pulled over abruptly, disrupting the traffic. He bared his teeth. "You know what else is unsettling?"

"No, but I am sure you'll tell me."

"The fact that you can manipulate reality."

"I wouldn't do it to you, if that's what you're worried about. There is no need to."

"How did I never learn about this?"

"It was lost."

A pause. "Just--just let me know before you do that again. Give me some warning. Please."

Lecter folded his hands across his lap. "Certainly."

Will drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "I really don't like this."

"You don't have to like it. You just have to comply, for now."

"And if I don't?"

"You always have a choice. That does not absolve you of the consequences inherent of that choice."

Will took a couple deep breaths. "You just. You." He sighed. "Let me know before you do that."

Lecter raised an eyebrow. "I already told you I would."

"I don't appreciate that you did that to Jack. And everyone else who's met you, right?"

"I understand." He tugged a little at his seatbelt. "I just hope that you know that my comprehension will not stop me from doing so again. Now, I believe we are late for our appointment."

Will grit his teeth, merged back into traffic, and they continued.

They arrived at the construction site with a little less tension between them, and spoke to a nervous woman about the employee records and resignations. 

Will set the box of files on the desk and pulled a few out at random. Flipped through them. Repeated the process. Finally, on his third go-round, he pulled something that caught his eye.

Garrett Jacob Hobbs had worked here.

He sat down on the desk, air rushing out of him. Garrett worked as a pipe threader, probably still worshipped Lecter. He crossed his arms over the file. "Lecter?"

The god turned. "Yes?"

"Come here please."

He obliged, and walked to Will.

"He's the one, isn't he?"

"You knew him."

"Yes." He wet his lips. "We used to play together when we were kids. He's the one?"

"I cannot confirm. I am curious as to how this will turn out, but I am not only helping one of you."

Garrett hadn't listed his home address on his letter of resignation. It, combined with the other evidence, was enough to get a warrant. Will pretended he didn't feel sick on the drive to Hobbs' home.

*

It was easier not to think about what transpired when Will got out of the car. It was easier to pretend he'd never left home that morning.

But easy was not reality.

Still, when he thought about it, it came in short, unreliable bursts. Little vignettes, full of color and sound and light, and yet different every single damn time. Sometimes he wondered if that was Lecter's doing.

Will preferred not to think about it.

Hobbs' wife had come tumbling out the door and onto the front porch in a halo of blood. There was no time to save her. He didn't have the expertise. 

Will drew his gun and sprinted into the house, through the living room, to the kitchen, where a man who looked like the aged version of his childhood best friend slashed the throat of a teenage girl and spattered Will with her scarlet arterial spray.

Recognition flashed in Hobbs' eyes. "Will?"

As the girl lay gasping on the floor by his shoes, Will knew he had to make a decision. For one long second, they stared at one another.

"You see this destruction? This beautiful chaos?" His pale eyes shone madly in the dim kitchen.

"I see."

"No, no you don't. But he sees. And he thinks it's beautiful."

A hard lump rose up in his throat and he knew Hobbs was past saving. "I'm sorry, Garrett," Will whispered. And he shot him eight times, until Hobbs fell back against the cabinet, whispered something that sounded like "See?" and died.

Lecter's firm hand was on his shoulder. "You did well." And then he was holding the girl's throat with his large, calloused fingers, leaving Will to sit numb on the linoleum tiles.

*

Sometimes, when Will remembered that day, he remembered attempting to reason with Hobbs. Sometimes he would recall a coherent response, sometimes not. Always, it had something to do with Lecter and his sacrifices.

Every time, Will remembered a feeling of revulsion. He had grown up around bloody stories, bloody metaphors, and bloody altars, and yet the taking of innocent lives always hurt him deeply. It was such a waste. So many fires extinguished when there was no need, when there were worse out there to take. 

Better yet, do not take at all. Dolls stuffed with venison and soaked in hot blood would do.

Every so often, he would wonder what would have happened if he'd made Hobbs a sacrifice at the end of it all. Made his evil, made his death worth something. Offered him to Lecter so the god could devour his heart.

*

In a different version of events, one locked in the back of Will's head, he'd sprinted inside and started shooting as soon as he'd seen Garrett, grazing the man's daughter in the throat with a bullet because his hands shook and his aim was off. He couldn't bear to see his friend go down at the hands of anyone but him.

He still shot Garrett eight times, and the man had grabbed his jaw, pulled him close, and said, with blood burbling out of his mouth, "See? You've won his affections. You see?"

And Will had choked and scrambled backwards.

*

"See? This all reforms. You will come back to him as I did, borne of blood and bone and splitting skin. See? A sacrifice. See?"

*

It was easier not to think about it.

_An endless cracking of teeth and bone, an endless ripping and chewing--he will devour you in the end. And in the end, you will want him to._


	6. A Trick of the Brain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there all! Just wanted to let you know that life has sped up and I'll be traveling, so y'all probably won't get any chapters next week. I know, so sad. I wanted to write them too, cuz according to my outline we're in for some fun.
> 
> Thank you again for the comments you leave. They really mean so much and validate the work I do and make the fun I have writing justifiable. Love you all very much.

Fragrant steam rose from the coffeepot, mixed with the scent of browning butter, caramelizing onions, and eggs over-easy. Will flipped the unbroken yolk over gently and then flipped the egg with the yolk he'd broken. Toast was waiting next to his toaster.

He turned off the heat and took down two plates and two mugs from his cabinet. On one plate went the better egg on top of a piece of toast, and that he walked to his bedroom. He opened the shrine cabinet--little and modest, decorated with bits of charcoal and strings of bottlecaps, a mosaic created with bits of broken glass--and he set the plate inside.

Will grabbed his breakfast and two mugs of coffee, one black and the other with a pinch of chili powder and a tablespoon of milk, and set the doctored coffee down by the plate in the shrine. He ate in silence, checking his watch periodically. It was still very early.

He didn't have to be at the station til six. It was five now.

Normally, he would have said a few words, but it seemed more appropriate to stay quiet. When Will finished his breakfast, he brought the dishes to the sink and went back to the bedroom to close up the cabinet. He'd dispose of the offerings later, when he got home.

He counted himself lucky that the Shadow Man didn't reject offerings that weren't meat; his wallet was lucky as well.

Will was showered, dressed, and out the door by five thirty.

*

He returned to his tiny rental house (recently having gotten a raise, he'd moved out of his shitty apartment), and turned on the porch light. A shape on the deck caught his eye--a lumpy package wrapped in butcher's paper and tied with string. Peeping out from underneath it was a note. 

Will didn't want to touch the package. Could have been cursed or something; it wasn't something's carcass nailed to his door, but he wasn't about to take chances. He hopped off the porch and grabbed a stick from the tiny front yard, and decided to be stupid and poke the package with the stick.

He grinned. Garrett used to make jokes about that all the time. Roadkill? He was gonna poke it with a stick. Oil spill? Poke it with a stick. Electric fence? Stick. Absently he wondered how his friend was doing, wondered if getting in touch was possible.

Will hummed and turned the package over to get at the note. He picked up the slip of paper between two fingers and read.

"Thought you might enjoy this."

It was signed by Mathilda.

Grin still on his face, he picked up the package. It was surprisingly light. Will let himself into the house and opened the package in his tiny kitchen. Feathers and bones. His grin grew wider. 

There was a longer note inside the package about what the feathers and bones were from, how she macerated the skeleton herself but thought he might not want a whole bird, that she hoped he'd find a good use for them. She'd also made sure to inform him that the animal's spirit had been fine with her taking the body and putting it to use. That was good--animals enraged could curse better than any witch.

He brought the remains into his bedroom and cleaned up the shrine, disposing of the offering he'd left that morning, set the remains on top. Will sat.

"So, Shadow Man. What should I do with this lovely gift?"

He wasn't expecting an answer. _Shapeshift and go flying. Your mother taught you how--I watched._

"Holy shit." He stood, closed the cabinet, and went to heat up dinner because if this wasn't normal then at least one thing should be.

Dear gods, what was going on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on shapeshifting: http://sarahannelawless.com/2010/04/14/shapeshifting/


	7. Let the Daffodils In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who had time to write on the plane??? Me!
> 
> Thank you all again for your comments and kudos. They mean the world to me.

_Freewheeling as a raven he flew, passing over trees with the wing clutched tightly in one hand._

Bev grinned and folded her arms on the table. "What's up, Will? I mean," she said, grin fading, "besides the obvious."

He shrugged. "Nothing, really."

"Still happy in your hermitage?"

Will snorted. "Bev--"

"Don't "Bev" me. You gotta admit you're a hermit at some point."

"'Some point' is not today. What're you getting?"

"Kosher pastrami. You?"

He shrugged. "Rueben, probably."

She leaned back in her chair and took a sip of iced tea. The ice clinked around in the glass. "So, you been out with anybody who's not me?"

His lips twitched. For a moment, Will considered telling her about Lecter. And then the urge passed, and he made a noncommittal sound.

"I guess if you're happy." Bev shrugged.

That was why Will liked her. She needled him and pushed him but she did back off when she needed to. He appreciated it; she never treated him like fine china but she didn't think him an anvil, either. "What've you been doing?"

"Work. Jack's being...Jack."

He snorted again. "That's best I've ever seen anyone articulate it."

Her lips quirked. "I'm just happy I get to take an hour off and have some lunch with you."

Will didn't know what to say to that and was silent for a moment.

"What, are your warm fuzzies incinerating your soul?"

"You assume I have one."

Bev rolled her eyes. 

A server checked up on them and took their orders and their menus.

"Will, what do you think of Dr. Lecter?"

He glanced down. Shit. "Odd change of subject. Why do you ask?"

Bev shrugged. "I dunno. He sorta creeps me out, if I'm being honest."

"Yeah."

"I guess he's good at what he does, though. Maybe it's just the psychiatrist vibes." She fiddled with her napkin. "My mom had a shrink when I was a teenager. He was friggin terrifying."

"How so?"

"He smelled like mothballs and sucked on hard candy. He--he was just twitchy. His hands always had to be doing something and he reminded me of a spider."

"Come into my parlor," Will muttered.

"Yeah. Exactly." 

Their food arrived. One cold, Kosher pastrami with a Kosher pickle, and a toasted reuben with a dill pickle.

"So," Bev continued after taking a bite of sandwich, "my creepy vibes are probably from that. I just."

Will nodded.

"He's giving you a psych eval, right?"

He shifted. "Yeah."

Beverly seemed to sense his discomfort and changed the subject yet again. "So, that girl Hobbs hurt. She, uh, she doing okay?"

"So I hear." Will didn't want to talk about that, either, and slowly pulled Bev into a conversation about something else.

*

When he got home an hour later, the house was empty except for the dogs. There was no evidence Lecter had ever been there in the first place. Will shivered and wondered where he'd gone, if he was coming back. He decided it didn't matter.

At some point he realized he needed to let the dogs out, and he opened the front door and settled down on his porch. Buster, Mops, and Dammit were the first out of the flood of fur and wagging tails. A faint smile crossed his face.

Winston brought him a soggy tennis ball and didn't stop nosing at his knees until he threw it.

A flock of small birds spread around his house, their wingbeats humming in the still air. The dogs went nuts chasing them. Winston brought the tennis ball back after a few minutes, and Will threw it again. Some of the other ones caught on and went after it too, dopey canine grins on their faces, tongues smacking their cheeks, and Will couldn't help but smile.

When the tennis ball returned to him, he threw it one more time and rushed inside to get the papers he was behind on grading and a red pen, and when he came back out it was Buster who was victorious, bright green ball almost too big for his little terrier mouth. It took Will a couple minutes to pry it from the dog, and then he threw it far away so he could get a start on his grading.

Buster and Maggie were the first to go after it, and finally it was just Winston laying by his feet, head on the toes of Will's boots.

After another hour he went inside, fed the dogs, and made himself a sandwich. He fell asleep in front of a documentary about Alaska, and his last thoughts were about maybe moving up there one day.

* 

He startled awake to his front door banging open, probably smacking into the wall hard enough for the handle to dent the wall. Will's laptop had gone to sleep and the fan was gently whirring; it was funny that was the second thing he fixated on after someone broke into his house. He jumped up, vision a bit blurry from sleep, and made his way to the front door.

Lecter was there, bloody and grinning fiercely. "Hello, Will."

"What." He was planning on saying more, but his words died quick in his throat.

He cocked his head to one side, deliberating something. "The blood isn't human, if that's what you're worried about."

"I." Will rubbed his hands together slowly. "Why?"

"You are newly blooded. I felt the urge to celebrate." He ducked out the door and returned with several neat packages in his arms. "I've buried the skeleton. You may keep the bones once they've been properly cleaned if you like."

Will blinked several times. "You went out and killed something to 'celebrate' my killing Hobbs?"

"It has a nice sort of symmetry to it, does it not?"

He knew then that he was too tangled in this mess of divinity to ever escape it, and part of him truly did not wish to escape. It was...unsettling. So, to avoid being too terribly ruffled, he decided to go along with it. "It does, actually."

Another one of those odd smiles. "There is meat hanging in the backyard. It will stay cold enough to keep, if that's what you want to do with it."

"What kind of meat?"

"Venison."

Will stepped aside so Lecter could come in. 

"I see you've resigned yourself to this arrangement."

"What exactly is our arrangement?"

Lecter moved through the front room and into the kitchen. "For a start," he called, "I am hoping to cultivate a true devotion in you."

"What I've done so far isn't enough?"

A pause. "I should rephrase. I am hoping to cultivate a devotion in you that has not been warped by modern convention. Something more true to the way it used to be."

"Anything else you'd like to add?"

"Ah. You're taking advantage of my...loquacious mood tonight, yes?"

"Yep."

"I think I'll oblige you. Come to the kitchen, please." 

Will obeyed. Will thought he'd been doing a lot of obeying lately.

"In killing Garrett Jacob Hobbs, you have started down my path. Like I said before, you always have a choice, and you are allowed to back out now. Go any further and your choices narrow."

Will shivered. "What makes you think I'd want to continue?"

"Firstly, I can make things very difficult for you if you don't pick the path I'd prefer."

"You said I had a choice."

"That does not absolve you of the consequences inherent in each choice." He paused again, probably to let that sink in, and then continued. "Secondly, the path you're choosing is one of passivity. You're simply going along with this. I would rather you are conscious of your choices and that you make them actively. I want you to want to continue."

"I'm guessing there's a thirdly."

Lecter looked him in the eye, dark maroon sinking into his skull. "You felt powerful when you killed him, did you not?"

Will opened his mouth to protest, but the god's gaze hardened and he clamped his mouth shut.

"It isn't power you want, though, not completely. I cannot pinpoint exactly what it is. But if you continue down this path, consciously and with full consent, then I know you will get what you crave."

He swallowed. It sounded good. Too good. "I'll still be bound to you by service, though."

"You will be bound to me through means other than service. You have studied extensively. You know exactly how."

Not as an equal or a slave, but as a right hand. "May I have time to think?"

"Certainly. Help me prepare dinner."

"What time is it?"

"Around two a.m.."

"This isn't dinner, then."

"It is now." And Lecter handed him a knife, hilt first. "You'll find ginger in the fridge. Slice it, would you?"

Will deliberated for a moment, and then he obeyed.

_Make your choice but make no bargains. He holds to them to the letter._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will's dog, Dammit, was inspired by a fic written by Emungere and I just couldn't resist using the name here. So don't give me credit for that!


	8. Tearing the Flesh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning - Use of psychoactive (and *toxic*) ointment to aid in ritual trance. This is legal. Do not attempt at home without a friend who can call emergency services if needed, some serious training, and a metric shit ton of common sense. I don't actually endorse this and have never used any kind of psychoactive substance, however, if you find yourself wanting to try it and it's legal where you are, do your research and be safe! If psychoactive stuff is an issue for you, please skip the chapter. You won't miss too much.

Will opened the little jar very carefully. He'd lit some incense, and, as per the maker's instructions, had no open flames around or any other hazardous materials out. His cordless phone was close by and he sat cross-legged in front of his altar. It had been a long time since he'd done this.

The ointment inside the jar was made from animal fat and belladonna, and other ingredients that he was warned not to ingest. He knew that already, but the maker was very clear about what instructions she expected him to listen to, and so he listened.

As per his request, when she'd formulated the ointment, she had taken a small bone from the package Mathilda gave him and ground it into fine powder, then mixed it with the ointment. Will paid extra for that.

He opened the altar cabinet, shells and bottlecaps and glass clinking against the doors when he did so, and took a sticky pinch of dragon's blood resin, and sprinkled it on the burning charcoal tablet sitting in a dish on the table. 

_You're delaying the inevitable, Will._

"Please leave me alone."

_Not forever, but if that's what you want I will respect it for now._

Will sighed. Annoyingly enough, he couldn't calm the adrenaline that had settled itself in his ribcage; he'd done this before and he couldn't see why he was so nervous. All of his attempts beforehand had gone successfully and he'd never had a reaction to belladonna before. Maybe it was because Garrett wasn't with him. Will's mother had taught him how to journey, Garrett and his mother taught him how to fly. He sighed. The fledgling needs to leap out of the nest at some point. He took a small bird's bone from the altar. Time to leap.

Will scooped a pea-sized amount of ointment from the jar, then divided it in half and spread it under his armpits. He anointed the base of his spine and the base of his neck, and began to hum.

His mouth went dry. He kept humming. A trickle of sweat ran down his back and the trail of smoke from the burner caught his eye for a moment, and his gaze followed it to the ceiling. His humming faded into the background and he closed his eyes, took deep, slow breaths.

Will centered himself, connected the roots of his being to the roots of the World Tree, and slowly called out the essence of the bird. A rustling, rising feeling tickled his throat. His hands were numb from grasping the bone so tight, ready to shift, ready to fly--

And he was stuck. Something was keeping him between worlds. He looked to the Shadow, in air thick like honey, felt hands on his shoulders, rubbing gentle circles with bony thumbs. _One moment._

Will took another breath, and a spark hit the back of his head, and he left his body in a flurry of wings and what felt like broken glass. He hurled himself up through the ceiling and into the night sky, rising rising rising on wings made like piano strings--

A creature made of feathers and bone waited for him on the asphalt and he rocketed down to it because it was whispering to him like the Shadow and it greeted him like the Shadow and he soared above it, following it to--

Followed it to the trees and the clearings and the tangles of moss under hooves.

The creature turned to stare at the bird

And Will was back in his body, sweating and shaking and quite possibly sobbing. Murmurs circled his head and the thumbs were back, rubbing his shoulders in gentle circles.

He wanted to do this again. And soon.

_Good._


	9. Leave My Heart to the Damned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey look at that a double post!! You're welcome. :)
> 
> Some of the dialogue taken from the show because I can't truly avoid it...:/
> 
> Some of this is original though?

_He waits for the kill. It is not hard to do, for his patience is vast and endless._

The day after their discussion, Lecter disappeared. Will couldn't say he was surprised, but he was maybe a bit disappointed. Just a bit, though. He knew Lecter would be back, if not today then tomorrow, and if not tomorrow then sometime soon.

He was supposed to be taking the next week or so off to recover from the "trauma" of killing another man. In some ways, he needed it. In others, however, he was terrified to find that he didn't feel guilty. Grief for killing his best friend, pain for the family that had to die, but Garrett had been murdering innocents. There was no guilt left for him.

Now, this thought led Will to the fact that it was Lecter's devotional writings that caused Garrett to kill innocent girls. That made him anxious and very glad that Lecter was gone so he could think in peace.

Sacrifice was apparently necessary, but if Lecter was walking around on Earth let him do it himself. Will found himself intrigued by the other possibilities outlined for him, and wanted to pursue them. Just. No sacrifice.

The god was magnetic and Will wanted to see what he had to offer.

Finally, the third day, Will got tired of waiting for the god to return and called him himself, with an offering of bloody and blue venison steak and fresh caught fish. "Lecter, Great Shadow, come share a meal with me. I want to talk."

He heard his front door open and shut, and Lecter walked in on silent feet. "You've made a decision?"

"Yes, but with a condition."

Lecter blinked owlishly. "I suppose we should discuss it, then. May I sit?"

"Of course." Will waited until the other had taken a seat before taking his.

"Is this all for me?" Lecter asked, gesturing at the meat and the trout laid out on the table, on top of Will's bone china plates.

"If you want it."

He took a slow breath in and smiled. "We should discuss this before we eat."

Will nodded. "I'm saying yes to you, but like I mentioned, there's a condition."

"And what would that be?"

"If human sacrifice is what you want, you can do it yourself. Don't involve me in it, please." His last words came out as desperate, and he hated himself for revealing how much he both did and did not want this.

Lecter stayed still, unnaturally so. "You will let me take you down my path, though?"

"Yes." He drummed his fingers on his thigh. "I want you to show me everything. I want to learn from you and I want to work with you."

"I would like to give you everything, Will. You proved yourself worthy. No blood sacrifice is something I suppose we'll have to work around."

Will blinked. "Is that it? You don't have a problem with that?"

"I didn't say I have no problem with it, but I did say we can work around it."

"Then I'm giving you my yes."

Lecter sat back. "Good." He picked up his fork. "Come sit with me. I would like to seal our agreement without getting blood on my sleeve."

Will moved from his place across the god to next to him. The air in his direct vicinity crackled and made the hair on Will's arms stand straight up. 

"Close your eyes." Lecter took two fingers and dipped them in the blood gathering around the venison, then took them and gently smeared them from Will's hairline, over his eyes, and down to the corners of his mouth. "Keep them closed," he murmured, then cut a strip of the nearly raw meat and held it between his fingers for a moment. "Open your mouth."

Will obeyed, and Lecter placed the strip delicately on his tongue.

*

Dr. Alana Bloom had taken a "professional" interest in him since Jack had taken him on. Will wasn't surprised. He was, however, a little ruffled when she came over one morning while he was out looking for an animal he'd seen outside. She offered to help.

"If it wasn't a coyote, the coyotes probably got it," he said, and his mouth twisted. "Probably got it even if it was a coyote."

Alana looked over at him. "You don't expect to find it alive, do you?"

"We'll be lucky to find a paw." A paw would be nice for his altar if there was nothing he could do to save the animal. There were other, more practical reasons to get a corpse off his property as well.

She grinned, ever so slightly. "If I'd known we were looking for a paw, I'd have been looking closer."

"I just want to get rid of anything that might attract a predator." There was the practical reason. Too bad there was already a predator on his property who went by the name of Lecter.

*

He was given the all-clear to go on with his consulting work the next day, which was lucky for Jack, because someone had been murdered last night. Will was suspicious but asked no questions.

The reason the FBI was called was because the victim, a trombonist for the Baltimore Metropolitan Orchestra, had been placed onstage and his vocal chords turned into cello strings.

Lecter made it clear it was not him.

So who was it?

*

"Is it another one of yours?" Will muttered from his desk. He knew Lecter most likely wouldn't answer, but it never hurt to ask. A small swell of tension vibrated through the air and Will continued to stare at the photos of the crime scene. He rubbed his eyes, and then forensics was calling him in.

The four of them, Zeller, Price, Beverly, and Will, concluded that the killer had intended for the man to be an instrument. It wasn't hard to guess, but it was nice to have some solid corroboration.

"You can't play," Bev said, "he plays you."

*

Will sat across from Lecter that evening, the two of them sitting on his bedroom floor in front of the altar.

"Among the first human instruments were flutes carved from sheep's bone," he said.

Will nodded. "The murder was a performance."

Lecter sat for a moment, then said, "Every human life is a piece of music. Like music, you are all finite events, unique arrangements." Will felt his stare boring holes in his skull. "Sometimes harmonious, sometimes dissonant."

"Are we worth hearing again?"

"Sometimes."

 

_It is not often he favors a human. Whomever he favors courts death._


	10. I Will Go to the Ends of the Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I truly have anything to say but thank you?
> 
> ...also three chapters in one week you're all very welcome. Enjoy!

This was home.

His back straightened as he continued his walk, his boots peeling off his feet in curls of leather, antlers sharp above his head. His feet ghosted over the snow, and he did not feel the cold. He let his cloak of furs fly free. A confrontation was coming. He could smell it in the air, like electricity. It was time for revenge.

The Great Shadow approached the mountains with his shoulders back and his head held high, and he left the towering peaks with blood on his face and broken teeth. There was skin under his claws and a rabid grin slashed across his face. He had bested his enemies, but now he knew his golden age was over.

In the guise of a man, he joined a group of travelers to France, then caught a ship to the Americas with the last of his followers and spent the next two decades skimming through the swamps with his people, devouring animal hearts and human souls. He ached for his homeland with a force that nearly rent him in two. He became something of a legend in the years that followed, the thing that screamed in the woods, a tale to keep children inside at night and to force men to leave him the organs of their kills.

He moved north at the turn of the century, when the heat finally became too much for him, and settled in what would later become Minnesota. The winter reminded him of Lithuania. The Natives living there were good company. Soon, though, he moved on as he was apt to do, and made his rounds across the country several times. The next time he returned to the east, there was a war going on. The rebels won. It amused him.

He returned to the South, and found his little community gone, except for two families that stubbornly (and secretly) clung to his ways. No one else remembered him. He learned Creole French as it evolved and surprised his followers one night around 1850. By that time, his ache for home was lessened. Not gone, but dulled. What he'd lost he did not think of.

He picked through the battlefields in the decade that followed and ate many souls.

His people surprised him with poetry and verse, and in turn he whispered to them of his triumphs, his kills, his revenge. Why he followed them to this new place when they thought he could have stayed in Lithuania, content, for as long as eternity allowed. He wished it were true, and told them of his wishes instead of his reality.

He left the South one last time in the early 1900s to eat the spoils of disaster.

The 1960s, with its occult revival, seemed like it would be a good time for him. It wasn't. Most of the family members moved on to the New Age or Hermeticism or Wicca. Still, there were a few that remained. Pickings were lean.

No longer was The Great Shadow the god of winter and death and bones and bitter cold. He was the god that made his living from chaos and disaster and close-knit family bonds.

And all the while, he ached for his home and he ached for his loss, and at night he would scream into the woods for anyone to hear.

It was how he first met the young Will Graham.

*

His nightly call into the woods released no pain (nothing released his pain), but it kept people away. A few times, it had prompted police, but he'd simply melted into the shadows and they never found anything wrong. 

The Shadow took a lungful of air and released it in a wild cry, one that still startled the crows from the trees even though he'd been out here for centuries, and they ought to be used to it by now. He screamed until he tasted copper in the back of his throat, screamed until he felt his vocal chords tear, strain, then snap. They mended in a matter of seconds, and he repeated his screams until he was shaking. It nearly brought his loss to the front of his mind.

"Um, mister?" Came a voice behind him.

He started slightly, taking once again the guise of a man, then turned around. A small, round child's face was poking out from behind a tree. 

"Mister, are you okay?"

The Shadow took a breath. "I am fine," he rasped. His voice sounded less than fine.

"Are you sure?"

This was becoming tedious. Small children disquieted him for reasons he no longer let himself acknowledge. "I assure you, I am okay."

The child stepped out from behind the tree, and The Shadow saw he was wrapped in a blanket that trailed along the ground. "Mommy told me not to go out here but you sounded sad, so I thought you might want my fishy." He produced a small plush fish from under the blanket. The blue fuzz covering its body was worn away in places and the blue fins that must have been iridescent at one point were frayed and patchy. "I would have given you BP but I can't sleep without him, but fishy's the next best for being sad with." 

If that fish was so well-loved, he shuddered to think of what state 'BP' was in. "Well, thank you. I don't think I need your fish, but I appreciate the offer."

The child's shoulders slumped. Then he brightened, and said, "My name's Will. I know your name, but I thought you might want to know mine because Mommy won't let me come to rituals with her." A breath. "So you prob'ly wouldn't know my name." 

The Shadow found his nails biting red crescents into his palms. "Well, now I do. Thank you, Will. Run along home, before your mother worries."

"Yeah, but Mommy says nobody should be sad alone."

He felt a tension growing in the back of his neck. "I will be okay. I quite like being alone."

"No, you don't. You just pretend like it." Will got closer, and whispered, "That's okay, though. Sometimes I do it too."

The child was smart. No, he had a gift.

He set the stuffed fish on the ground. "I'm gonna leave him out here if you want him, okay?"

The Shadow nodded, and watched Will retreat to the edge of the woods. Only when he was certain the child was inside did he pick up the fish. It was incredibly, improbably soft. He felt the sudden urge to cuddle it to his chest, and he obeyed it without thinking.

The fish was back with Will in the morning. If it came to it, The Shadow would deny ever taking it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I thought you might want to know what the hell a BP is: http://lamby-grahamy.tumblr.com/post/131794205962/bp-these-are-a-photo-and-caption-which-will
> 
> Stands for Blue Puppy.


	11. Make No Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments and kudos! Every single one I get makes me so happy you don't even know.

Will woke to a dark room and Lecter looming over his bed. He started. "Lecter, what the hell?"

"Do you feel like going hunting today?"

"What are you talking about? It's--" he checked his alarm clock, "it's four in the morning."

"I've located the killer. Would you like to go hunting?"

"To capture or kill?"

A wry smile crossed his face. "Whatever is necessary to bring him to justice."

Will flopped back against the bed. "You do realize that it's illegal for me to go after him alone?"

"That's alright. We must bait the trap, after all."

He meant police. He was going to use policemen to bait the killer. "Dear gods."

"Come downstairs. I've made breakfast."

Will wasn't sure he had an appetite.

Lecter served breakfast--a bacon quiche--and sat across from Will again. "His name is Tobias Budge."

Will took a bite of quiche. It was unsettlingly delicious. "Okay."

"He works at the Chordophone string shop in Baltimore and makes gut strings out of his victims." 

He set his fork down. "You ever stop to think that this isn't breakfast conversation?"

Lecter made a thoughtful humming noise. "I suppose you're right."

"I'll call Jack."

"Finish your breakfast first."

*

Will called Jack, who faxed him a warrant and had Baltimore PD send two officers to the music store with him. One of them, Dormau, was talking animatedly about his granddaughter's ballet recital. He was going tonight, had cleared his schedule special for it. It made Will smile, but it also made cold pool in his gut. He didn't know why.

He was about to go in with them when he heard a whisper in the back of his brain.

_Wait outside._

"I forgot something in the car. I'll be right in." 

The officers shuffled in without him.

He walked back in the direction of the car and found Lecter leaning up against it. "What's going on?"

"I didn't want you hurt," he said.

Will turned back in the direction of the store and started to walk. 

"Will, stop."

Without stopping, he said, "You care about me, I care about those officers who are probably dead."

"Will, stop walking. You may get a chance to save them if you listen to me."

He stopped. "Fucking hell, what do you want me to do?"

"Wait."

"I need to call for backup."

"Not yet."

"Lecter, if this is--"

"You said yes to me. I expect your obedience."

Will ground his molars and folded his arms. 

"Just wait. They will be fine. He hasn't touched them yet." Lecter shifted his feet. "There is a room for private lessons inside. We will need to go through there. I can trust you to keep a calm head?"

"I was in the police force for six years. I think I can keep a calm head."

"Considering how calm you are right now..."

"Please, just. Can we go in?"

Lecter lifted his head and closed his eyes, as if listening to something. "Now we can."

Will wasted no time, breaking into a sprint down the street and rounding the corner into the shop, not bothering to see if Lecter followed. It was empty.

"Will," the god whispered from somewhere behind him. He jumped. 

"Yeah?" he answered, in an equally low voice.

"Move quickly."

Will went behind the front desk of the shop and opened the door to the private room. One of the officers lay unconscious on the floor, a large wound in his head. Will continued walking; the room was badly lit and was larger than he expected. There was a staircase to the basement, obscured by shadows and bookshelves, and from beyond it came a scratching sound. Scratch-scratch-scratch. 

"He will be down there," Lecter muttered. "Get your gun out."

Will swallowed hard and pulled out his gun, flipped the safety off. He crept down the stairs, and the smell of the basement hit him like sewage. This was where Tobias made his strings. He shuddered.

He stepped on something--as he examined it closer, he saw it was a badge. "Lecter," he whispered.

The scratching grew louder. Before he could investigate what it was, a blur of movement caught his eye, and a large man looped a garrote of razor-sharp wire over his head; he raised an arm to defend his head and the razor sting of the wire cut into his flesh. 

"Lecter!" he gasped, and then remembered he was holding a gun. He brought it up next to him and fired. The blast was deafening and he fell to the floor of the room, Tobias' grip gone from his torso. Ringing overtook his hearing and he struggled to get up--

Tobias was sprinting for the stairs--

He never got there.

Lecter had him by the throat faster than a blink. 

Will's hearing gradually returned, and the first thing he heard was Lecter saying, "My dear Will, I would prefer you finish this now. It will save us much trouble later on."

Tobias gagged. Will shivered. "I-I can't kill another person, Lecter."

"Pull aside the curtain in the corner, please."

Ignoring the numb, aching sting in his arm, Will lurched to the curtain. He tugged it open to see one of the officers, the one whose badge he stepped on. Dormau. He was on his knees, dead, supported by razor wires stretched over his face and neck and shoulders, one of his hands scratch-scratch-scratching against the bare concrete. Will's jaw tightened, and with a roar he turned and shot Tobias once, twice, three times.

Lecter let him drop and twitch on the ground, strode up to Will, and took him in his arms. Will found himself burrowing into the embrace. Found himself shaking. Dormau would never see his granddaughter do ballet. 

He'd killed another man.

"My dear Will, you did what you had to."

He said nothing at first, and then. An idea (mostly likely a shock-induced idea) occurred to him. "Lecter?"

"Yes?"

"So his death isn't. Isn't a waste, would. Would you like him as an offering?"

A pair of lips brushed over the top of his head. He shivered. "Very much, if that will make you comfortable."

It was everything he wished he had been able to do for Garrett. This way he wasn't truly killing him, but changing him. Changing Tobias into light to feed the Shadow. "I. I offer this to The Great Shadow, that his blessings may return upon me tenfold."

"And they shall ever be returned." Lecter bent ever so slightly and gently pressed his lips to Will's. There was a rush of warmth, something like energy transferred, and then it ended as abruptly as it had begun. "You will be okay. Now call for backup."

Will was too stunned to do it himself, so Lecter did.

"I feel a great deal of affection for you, Will. Surely you're not surprised after all these years?"

"Just a little bit, yeah," he whispered.

"If it makes you feel any better, that was also the best way for me to transfer my blessing to you."

"I um. I. Can I sit?"

"On the stairs, where it's less bloody."

They sat and waited for the sirens to come into earshot.

Will still had no idea what had just happened. "We're talking about this later."

"Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That escalated quickly. ;)
> 
> (And yes, the chapter name did change after I realized an error. You're not crazy).


	12. Take My Lungs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You people make me so happy. I'm so glad you're all enjoying. Happy Halloween.
> 
> Updates might be slow this week, as I've got to be doing ALL THE THINGS and therefore won't have much time to work on this. Sorry about that.

Will sat in the trees surrounding the ritual space. He wasn't supposed to be here, but he thought that if he got home before the parents left then it would be okay. They'd never know. The Shadow sat on the branch next to his, a look of slight amusement on his face. Will got a little giddy when he remembered that his new friend was a god.

In the first few months, it had been impossible to forget. Now when he played in the creek near home or caught lizards in cardboard boxes, The Shadow was with him. When Mom couldn't help him with his reading because she was busy, The Shadow sat behind him and helped him sound out words. When Will couldn't sleep, The Shadow told him stories of a place of cold mountains and thick forests.

It was still terrifying when he truly thought about it. A god in his bedroom, helping him puzzle out See Spot Run. He thought it would be scary even when he grew up. So Will just didn't think about it, and he sat in the tree, swinging his legs and whispering to his best friend about how Sue-Anne from 1st grade was being really mean to him and could he please make it so Will never had to go to school again?

"You have to go to school, Will," The Shadow whispered. "Would you like to go home and talk about it more?"

Will shrugged. "I like the trees."

"Very well." 

Wind rustled the leaves, and the grown-ups moved around in a circle around the center slab. Will felt his scalp prickle from the rising cone of energy and he grinned. "This is fun to watch."

"It is. Unfortunately, the ritual is coming to a close, and if you want to have time to get home we must go now."

He sighed. "Fine."

"Would you like help getting down?"

"No thanks." Will slid down the tree's trunk as quietly as he could.

*

A fourteen year-old Will sat on his roof, hoping for a glimpse of The Shadow. Really, he missed him. It'd been years since he'd last shown up, and still Will missed him with a palpable ache. Hence the roof. The two of them used to sit up there after Will's mom died and talk about the most benign of things. 

He was tired, but tonight there was a sharpness in his heart that made him stay. Dad was asleep in front of the TV downstairs and hadn't picked him up from school. It was just as well. People at school liked to harass him, and today it'd gone beyond harassment. He didn't want to make his father worry.

Will just wanted to sit against The Shadow's shoulder and cry.

He never arrived.

Finally, when Will could taste snow in the air, he went back inside and crawled under his bedsheets. There were no tears left to shed, and so he didn't cry. He felt utterly abandoned, like an empty harbor, a shipwreck. There was no Shadow to help him now.


	13. Unwrap the Bread of my Heart

Lecter set two plates down on the table. The places were set next to each other. Will was sitting, gnawing his knuckles and trying to think. He'd killed two people. One of them was a sacrifice. He should be feeling revulsion, should be terrified, should be guilty.

And he wasn't.

That's what terrified him the most.

A deep calm had settled over him, like something was finally right inside him. Whatever was broken within him was on its way to mending. Lunch smelled amazing, and he had an appetite.

The voice in the back of his head that said he should feel terrible was fading.

"You're still processing?" Lecter said.

"Yeah. I should feel guilt, but I don't."

"Tobias isn't worth another thought, Will."

"I don't agree." He folded his arms over his chest. "What's lunch?"

"Wild rice and greens with caramelized onions. Something simple and mild."

It didn't sound simple to Will, but he decided to let it go. Vaguely he thought he should cook more--used to do it all the time anyway. "I believe he was important in a way. Tobias."

"Belief is important. It's the foundation upon which society built itself--the belief that we could be civilized and mature, that a utopia could happen if we tried hard enough."

"You don't sound particularly amiable to that philosophy."

"I am not. Eat your lunch, Will."

He relented and took a forkful of rice. It popped in his mouth as he chewed.

"If you wish, I can leave you to think after lunch."

Will shook his head and swallowed. "I think I want you around."

A smile spread over Lecter's face. "I'm flattered."

"Shuddup."

They ate slowly, talking in between bites. Nothing of import, mostly rehashing old hurts and mending them over. There were more, Will guessed, than Lecter expected there to be.

Will cleared the table and let his dogs out, then sat back down where the god was waiting. "I'm still not okay with killing for sacrifice's sake, you realize."

"I do." He leaned back and folded his hands in his lap. "And, like I said, I can work around that."

Will swallowed, unsure of what to say.

"I remember how hard it was for you when you were younger. That chicken you sacrificed with Hobbs, how you couldn't look as it died. It was intriguing."

He winced at the memory. "I still feel horrible about that."

"And yet you don't feel bad about Tobias, though truly you could have just subdued him and been done."

Something thrummed deep in him. "I don't."

Lecter leaned forward again. "And why is that?"

"I made him a sacrifice to you. His life wasn't wasted." He swallowed again. "Neither was his death."

"Did you feel you needed to honor him?"

"I felt I needed to honor you." It came pouring from Will's mouth without his consent.

Lecter tilted his head. Leaned closer and didn't blink. The sweet musky scent of him carried close and Will shivered. "And now I feel as though I must honor you." A breath. They were so close that when he breathed out, Will felt it on his lips. "What do you want from me?"

He paused. What he was about to say could cause him harm.

"You may speak freely, Will. We can't control our wants."

He took a slow breath. "I...I want your devotion."

"Then we have similar goals, I think."

Lecter was so near now that Will could feel the heat radiating off him. He closed the gap and kissed the god, gently at first, and then Lecter opened his mouth, yielding to him. The kiss was long and slow and torturous and made Will want to claw into himself and gift the god with his ribs, his sternum, his spine. His everything. 

The two broke apart for a moment, staring at each other. Then Lecter smiled. "How do you feel about doing that again?"

*

Fire crackled in the fireplace, and the two enjoyed the heat working its way into their muscles. Lecter absently stroked his fingers through Will's hair, Will dozing too deeply to protest. All was strangely calm, and it made him feel like something was pressing down on them. The calm before the storm.

He did not let it ruffle him. All would be well, even with the thunder approaching.

Even as the thunder wore blood and stained fangs, ones he knew well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ooooooh spoopy~
> 
> Thank you all again! You make my writing a joy!


	14. Drink it Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! Life has been...nuts, to say the least. To make up for it, there's a double post in your future. :)

Will was alone in the grove, exhausted. Part of him screamed to sleep, to leave the grove and crawl in bed and stop the endless pining for a god that didn't care. Part of him whispered Stay, and so stay he did. The trees screamed in the wind tossing their branches, and he shivered, but he stayed.

There were no words for him to say, no songs for him to sing. Just an endless, sharp ache in his chest for the Shadow and for his mother. He sat down at the base of a tree, hunched up, and closed his eyes. This time in his life had ended. His golden age. Unfortunately, while gold never tarnished, this did.

Will couldn't help but love the god, though. Couldn't help but to stay devoted, even if the Shadow never returned to him. Something in him had been changed and could not go back. 

He swallowed back a lump of tears, leaned back against the tree trunk, and waited for the night to end.


	15. Interlude: Without the Force

"Lecter."

The god glanced up from his reading. "Yes?"

"I want to know why you left."

A long pause. "When you were young?"

"Yes."

"It's a complicated story. Do you have time to sit and listen?"

Winston trotted up and nosed the back of Will's knee. He took a breath. "I do."

"Then sit."

Will settled himself down on the couch next to Lecter.

"Parts of my lore were conceived out of pride. I didn't leave Lithuania of my own volition." He shifted on the couch and folded his hands in his lap. "When I'd finally settled into a routine here, an enemy of mine caught wind of my location. I had to disappear."

"Where did you go?"

"Back to Europe. France, Italy. I spent time Germany as well."

"And you came back."

"Once one lays a false trail, one can return home." 

A long silence stretched between them. Will broke it. "Is that your complicated story?"

"Not all of it. Some secrets I must keep for myself." He spread his hands. "You left, too."

"I was a kid, Lecter. You abandoned me and I thought you never looked back. Did you look back?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. You must understand. I could not draw attention to you."

"I wanted to become a part of you."

"Apotheosis is a noble goal. Something humans have tried for centuries."

"Has anyone tried to merge with you? To blur?"

"Once." 

"I assume it didn't go well?"

"It went very well. Once gilded, her skeleton made a beautiful piece of art."

Will felt a shiver run down his spine. It wasn't because he was disturbed. "Will you do that to me, when I die?"

"Perhaps."

"That's all you have to say? Perhaps?"

"For now."

Will made to stand up, but Lecter caught his wrist. 

"I _am_ sorry, Will. For the pain I caused you. It was never my intention."

"You realize that intent means basically shit, right? Just like mine, your actions have consequences. Just because you regret it doesn't make it okay."

"I may be sorry, but that doesn't mean I regret averting harm to you, your family, and myself."

"I fell apart without you!" Will broke free of his grip and stood, facing him with a snarl. "We fell apart. My family disintegrated and Garrett moved away and I had _nobody!_ You could have taken us with you. You could have fought whoever dragged you away from us. You could have done anything but you _abandoned me._ " To his horror, Will felt tears burning the backs of his eyes.

"Will," Lecter began softly, "I cannot turn back the clocks for you. I cannot undo this. But, I can...make a promise to you, if you will accept it."

He let his hands work at his sides for a moment. Lecter took that as an opportunity to speak.

"I swear, on my honor and my position, that if I leave, you will have an explanation, and if I can, I will stay with you as long as you live. I swear that I will never truly abandon you." He made eye contact. "May I be destroyed if I break my promise. If you wish, you can do it yourself."

"Good. Because the next time you leave, I will."

"You have what you wanted, dear Will."

"And what's that?" he muttered.

"My devotion."

His breath caught in his throat. "You make it really hard to be angry at you."

Lecter just smiled, one of those secret smiles of his, and stood. "I'm going to make dinner. Would you like to help?"

He shook his head. "I'm. I'm gonna go for a run with the dogs."

"I'll let you know when dinner is served."

They parted without another word, without a second glance.

*

Will's shoes crunched through the dry grasses while he walked, dogs trailing along behind him and running along in front of him. The sky loomed, almost ominous. He figured it was just his mood.

He pulled his coat tighter around himself. Buster slammed into his legs, as he was apt to do, and Will grinned. "Klutz," he said, not a note of annoyance in his voice. Dammit was off in the front, pounding after a squirrel he'd never catch. He looked up at the sky again.

The evening tinged it with red and the clouds were grey and jagged across it. Will wondered if it was maybe an omen and not his mood. He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking, breath misting out in front of him, and his smile faded. 

Now was not the time to be thinking about omens.

The distinct sensation of being watched prickled the back of his neck. "I don't want to talk to you right now." No response. The feeling of eyes grew. Finally, Will whirled. "Lecter, what do you want?"

The dogs started to bark, backed away from the trees. The dogs loved Lecter. This was not him.

He made his way back to the house as quickly as he could.

"You're back early," Lecter said, somewhere out of sight.

"There's something out there. I don't know what it is but the dogs don't like it."

The god emerged from the kitchen, tension on his forehead. "I'll look into it." His eyes met Will's. "Do you feel like helping me now?"

"Not really, no. But I'll watch happily."

Lecter sighed and gestured for Will to follow him back into the kitchen. "I thought fish would make a good meal for us to share."

"What kind?"

"Trout."

Will nodded. He leaned up against his countertop and watched Lecter finish deboning each fish. A long silence, not entirely comfortable, passed between them. "You...you meant what you said?" he began, "You won't leave without telling me?"

"And I will try my hardest to stay with you until you die."

"After that?"

"I can't tell you." Will detected a smile in his voice. "But, Will, I would hope we could stay together beyond that. You and I seem to fit."

"We might, yes."

Lecter turned away from the fish for a moment. Behind his eyes something softened, and his lips just barely curved upward. He still looked like a predator, but at that moment he didn't look like a predator with its claws out. He looked like a cat stretching in the sun.

Will thought it was disturbingly sweet.

*

They sat at the table an hour later with fish, more wild rice, and tall glasses of water. Remarkably simple and yet still plain remarkable. The two were doing dishes when Jack called.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst ahead!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short update, but I'm just happy I got one out tbh. Things have been super crazy. Don't expect any updates until at least the end of the week, probably not even then because I am a busy student!
> 
> Thank you all for your patience. I'll make the next update extra long for you, k?

The blankets gave a dry rustle. Will's mother lay on her side in the bed, not so much truly breathing as gasping for air.

Her slow death rattle had been going for weeks. First it was a cold, then bronchitis, then pneumonia. The doctors advised her to say goodbye to the people she loved, because they knew she wasn't going to get better.

Will held her cold hand tight. Neither of them said a word and he tried to keep tears from slipping from behind his eyes.

"Baby, c'mere," she whispered.

He swallowed and crawled into bed next to her, and she wrapped her thin arms around him. She smelled like gardenias and sunshine, fresh soil and death. Will buried his face in her shoulder. "I love you, Mama."

"I love you too, baby. You're gonna be okay."

"What if I'm not?"

"Your dad'll take care of you. Lecter will take care of you." She pressed a kiss into his little-boy curls. "You'll still have my love, baby."

"I just don't want you to--to die."

"It's a natural part of life. Don't worry. Everybody dies."

"Doesn't make it any easier."

She hugged him tighter. "I know. Doesn't make it easier for me, either, you know."

"I love you."

"I love you too, baby."

And then she began to sing, a gentle, low, breathy hum of Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Her favorite song.

The song gradually petered out in the middle, and that was when Will realized she'd stopped breathing.

He let the tears fall this time.


	17. Here's My Body

"What did Uncle Jack say?" Lecter asked after Will'd hung up. 

Will resisted the urge to rub his temples. "There's a new killer."

"Of course. Who died?"

"Two families in the past couple months. Wasn't our job until the next murder happened across state lines."

Lecter laced his fingers together. "How were they killed?"

"Jack didn't say." He sighed. "I'm sure he'd love to see you, though."

"Let me find my coat."

*

They arrived at the diner Jack arranged for them to meet with no issue. It took them a moment of looking, but they found him sitting at a booth by the emergency exit, way in the back where he could see everything going on in the diner. A cup of coffee steamed by his elbows, which rested on the table.

Will sat down first. "What do you have for me?"

Lecter sat next to him.

"No hello for me?" Jack asked.  
"Hi, Jack."

A sigh. "Leedses and Jacobis. They were shot, dragged back to their beds," he said. "Mirrors shoved in their eyes. They were found bitten, but of course this guy isn't messy. No fluid, no DNA."

"Houses still being swept over?"

Lecter shifted in his seat, and, had Will thought the god to be the worrying type, he'd have thought it was an anxious sort of shift.

"Yeah. The real estate companies'll be in there to clean up and sell it in a week or so, though, so now would be the time to go."

"Jack," Lecter started, "I'd be happy to accompany Will to the scene, if it's all right with you."

"Sure. You both up to a bit of a late night road trip?"

"I think some coffee'd be a good idea first," Will said. 

"You can take mine. I'm going to go out and warm up my car." Jack stood before anyone could say a word to the contrary, left three crinkled bills on the table, and was out of the diner in a flash.

When the door banged shut, Will turned his attention to Lecter. "What's going on?"

He took a deep breath. "Not what I think is going on, I hope." 

"Lecter, you're going to have to tell me more than that."

"I will, if I'm right."

"Then we should go find out, shouldn't we?"

"Regrettably." Lecter slid from the booth. "Would you mind if I drove?"

*

They arrived at the Leeds' residence around midnight. Will took his flashlight from the glove compartment so he could observe without fear of the neighbors calling the local PD on him. Lights on in a murder house frightened small-town neighborly people, families who had block parties and lemonade stands on weekends because they felt safe enough to do it.

Will saw Lecter stiffen the second he left the car. He had to admit, there was a strange energy around the house, something deep and vicious and just short of terrifying, but to make Lecter tense like that? It wasn't good.

Jack waited for them to enter the house while he leaned against the hood of his SUV, a figurehead of a vast ship. The headlights, still on, pointed straight at the door. So much for inconspicuous. 

Lecter entered first, and seemed almost hesitant to grasp the doorknob. When he did, though, he held the door open for Will.

"You okay?" Will whispered as he passed.

"I'm perfectly fine."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, then made his way into the front hall. It was a respectable house; four bedrooms, three and a half bathrooms, a spacious kitchen. Will found himself just a bit jealous of the Leedses, and then remembered they were dead and he was alive. Suddenly he wasn't so jealous anymore.

There was a staircase leading to the second floor off to his left. It looked eerie in the mix of sodium lights and moonlight. He decided the best way to go was up.

The feeling in the air, the violent energy, the tense crackle became stronger as he ascended, and when he reached the top, the first blood spatter coming into view, Lecter put a hand on his shoulder.

"Will, I think I may be right."

Oh no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dontcha just *love* cliffhangers?


	18. I am Undone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand now we have PLOT!

He spreads his bright wings over the sun, and the world smokes and shakes under him. He is the red moon, the great night sky, the Devourer. He drove The Shadow from his own mountains. 

He is the Great Red Dragon, and he will not be defied.

Hundreds of years he's chased The Shadow, through the swamps of America and through the Atlantic, over great dry plains and across the windy prairies, through tired days and endless centuries. It is the nature of fire to devour darkness. 

He transmuted the families and ate their beauty, ate their tired souls, gave them relief and showed them religion. And he looked at himself through their eyes, choked on his glassy conception of himself, and rose from his flames a new beast.

He is the Great Red Dragon, he who devours the sun, who eats perfection and beauty like The Shadow gluts himself on organs and deep satisfaction. And the light is destined to utterly destroy the dark.

*

"So it was written," Lecter murmured, "and so it is played out. He is coming back for me."

Will turned away to look out the Leeds' window. "And he'll kill you."

"In a way, yes. I will be gone as a part of him."

He let his gaze trace up the dried blood on the walls, along the ceiling. "And what about me?"

"He might take you. He might leave you. But he will not be satisfied until he has me."

"He's what you were running from, isn't he? When you left, I mean."

A nod.

"What can I do?"

"Make up a profile for Jack. Go somewhere safe."

Will frowned. "I'm not leaving."

"You are."

"You said I have a choice. I always have a choice."

"Not in this." Lecter crossed the room to stand close to him. "It is most likely that he'll destroy you. We are bound enough for him to associate you with me, but not enough that he can find you if you go somewhere safe."

"I'm staying."

"Will--"

"No. Because if I leave, you will die, and if you fucking die I will never forgive you."

"The light is destined to devour the darkness, Will. He is the reason I'm no longer in Lithuania."

"Never thought you were one for accepting your fate."

A long silence passed between the two of them. 

"I killed for you. I'm not leaving you," Will ground out.

"You didn't kill for me. You killed for necessity."

"I gave them to you."

"Like a cat with a dead bird."

"I'm not leaving. I will kill for you this time."

Lecter froze, then. "If you stay," he said, "we must have a stronger connection."

"I'm willing."

"It cannot be undone."

"I'm willing."

He sighed. "Then I am, too."

"We'll face him together."

Another nod.

"Because Lecter, either we both live or we both go down. I can't. I can't do this without you."

"I know."


	19. Of You I Now am a Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the reason why I upped the rating. You're all welcome. Hopefully this makes up for a lack of updates lately and the fact that it's a Monday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be gentle senpai. It's my first time writing smut.

Will pushed his glasses back up his nose and shivered. "It's too cold to be out, Lecter."

The god regarded him with cold garnet eyes. "Do you want this or not?"

"I do. Humans get cold, though."

"I know. But there will be plenty of heat in the grove."

Will sighed through his nose and followed him through the tunnel. It was useless to argue now. 

Their feet went lightly over icy ground and patches of snow, and Will's coat was tighter around him than ever. But when Lecter pulled aside the branch, a wave of heat washed over him. There was a fire burning to the right of the slab, furs on the slab, and he could just barely make out the bone handle of the ritual knife tucked into the furs.

There was no way the fire could heat a space this large, though. He decided not to question it.

"Will, I would like to let this branch go."

"Oh, sorry." He passed through and shed his coat, laid it gently on the damp earth. Lecter followed.

"You know that this Joining is irreversible, yes?"

"Yes."

"It will have effects on the both of us."

"I learned the ritual by heart when I was fifteen. I know."

"You can't leave me safely if we go through with it. If you leave, he will find you and he will devour you."

"I know."

The god just blinked. "Whenever you are ready to begin." He walked down the slope and collected three stone bowls from the edge of the grove. One was filled with black salt, one with cedar, skullcap, quassia; devil's bone root, sandalwood, Solomon's Seal root. The third bowl was empty, and in it sat a small jar of scarlet oil.

Will was intimately acquainted with the needs of this ritual. He took a breath, attempting to settle the adrenaline coursing into his palms, and began to strip, shoes and socks first. Good thing it was warm.

Lecter set the bowls to the side of the slab and removed his jacket, his waistcoat, his button down shirt.

Will looked up and found his mouth going dry at the sight of a lean, muscled back, arched and tan, overlaid with moonlight. A coil of tension appeared in the pit of his stomach. Lecter straightened, then, and Will found he had to look away. 

When the last articles of clothing were neatly folded next to Will's coat, the two met by the fire, he ramrod-straight, making eye contact with Lecter, who was holding the bowl of black salt and the red oil. Slowly, he mixed a quarter of the oil with the salt.

"I, who am Hunter, Architect of bone and Becoming," he began, energy already raising high around them, "I take you under my shadow." He dipped two fingers in the messy salt and oil. Will closed his eyes and felt the salty sting and grit of a sigil being drawn on his chest. The first Mark of Possession.

He took a shaky breath and took the bowl in hand. "And I, your fledgling, accept this protection." A line down the forehead. Part of him hoped the mixture wouldn't drip into Lecter's eyes. "And I ask..." Another shaky breath. "And I ask to become part of your effort to Build, to Become, with cedar, salt, skullcap and devil's bone as our binding."

Lecter's salty palms pressed to his cheeks, dragging the next Mark down his neck. "I ask you to let me in."

"I ask you to enter," he said.

Lecter breathed deep, then, and exposed his throat, passed around behind Will. 

The third Mark was painted up his shivering back, and he said, "And for this I would ask to know you."

A long sigh, thumbs caressing his hipbones. The tension released heat with the fire, and Will felt himself harden. He tried very hard to ignore that. A murmur next to his ear. "You may."

Will turned and scooped salt from the bowl, marking the god's shoulders and clavicle. "I ask you your name, as a fledgling no longer."

"My beautiful boy, you shall have it." Lecter leaned in close, so close Will could feel his breath on his lips. "Hannibal," he whispered.

A thrill ran through him. "Hannibal, I--" A swallow. A breath. "I ask you to make me yours. Make the fourth Mark."

A hand traced up his thigh, leaving trails of sensation in its wake. The fourth Mark on his right thigh. The fifth on his left.

One to go.

"Wrap your great wings around me, and let me sink within you," Will whispered, and made the sixth and final mark on Hannibal himself. 

Hannibal took the empty bowl and poured another quarter of the little jar's viscous contents inside. If Will weren't so overwhelmed, he might have wondered if it was truly oil.

The god took the ritual knife. Will was shaking, but proffered his arm anyway.

"Would that I could have your heart," Hannibal murmured, and another intense shiver ran through him. Hannibal appeared to be unaffected so far.

Delicately, he sliced the large vein in the crook of Will's elbow, and caught the blood with the bowl. The flow stopped after a moment, the obsidian having made a fine cut, and Hannibal stirred the contents of the bowl with his finger. He added his own blood to the mix.

Will felt his eyes grow huge, knew the firelight was reflecting off his scleras like it was Hannibal's. 

"With this mix, I declare us joined." And the god raised the bowl to his lips and drank deeply, then offered it to Will. Adrenaline coursed up into his throat. Hannibal held the bowl as Will took a swallow of the metallic-sweet-burning liquid. Some of it ran down his chin, down his chest. 

The herbs hit the fire with a sizzle and a pop.

Something settled into the clearing, a large presence that started with Hannibal and ended with Will. Something huge and dark and electric, something that consumed them both for just a moment. All of his tension, his nerves, melted away.

And then Hannibal was close to Will, so close. "Now, we must seal it."

"Sounds good."

A small smile. "Don't be afraid."

"I'm not afraid, my lord."

"Good." A pause, one that made Will feel like he was being devoured, and then Hannibal's mouth was crushed against his. He tasted like blood.

He drew them down to sit on the nest of furs on the slab, massaging Will's bare back. The sensation of the furs on his thighs and his hardened length, Hannibal's hands roaming his back, lips to lips; all of that exquisite sensation, all of it made him moan. He felt a smile against his mouth.

He moved down to suck at Will's jaw, his neck, and Will found all he could do was tangle his hands in Hannibal's hair and gasp. Hannibal pulled back, lips swollen and eyes dark, and they met again in a rough kiss. 

Will moved to straddle him, gently bit down on Hannibal's lip, then harder, and heard a growl rumble from the other's chest. He could feel Hannibal's hardness against himself, and for just a moment he rocked his hips forward. Keen sensation, like delicate lightning, had him moaning again into his shoulder.

Nails dug into his back. He bit down, tasted salt and burning sweetness.

"Beautiful," the god said breathlessly against his skin. "You are exquisite."

Will rested his head against his chest, just for a second, then sucked a nipple into his mouth, teasing around the bud. Hannibal threw his head back and gave a throaty moan, something close to a howl.

He trailed his tongue all the way down, paused to bite a hipbone.

"You have no idea how I long to consume you."

Something about that lit desire brighter in Will's head, and he reached down to palm himself. "Take my heart when I'm gone," he gasped.

"I will take much more than tha--" his sentence was cut off as Will licked a stripe up his cock. "I will take the rest of your blood, my dear."

Will took the head into his mouth so that it brushed up against the roof of it.

"I will make a beautiful piece from your bones, something..." He gasped, "something nobody will ever take down." He lay back against the furs, panting, and Will hummed his affirmation; Hannibal writhed on the fur from the vibration.

He pulled back. "How are we doing this?" he asked, proud of the fact that his voice wasn't as affected as he'd expected it to be.

"Get me the oil." He sounded absolutely wrecked.

"It burns my mouth."

"It won't burn the rest of you. Get it."

Will reached over the edge of the slab and took the jar. "How is this working?"

Hannibal sat up, pupils still blown wide. "You _have_ done this before, yes?"

"Of course. I was just wondering which one of us would give, which would receive."

His head fell forward into Will's shoulder, and he began to laugh. Will really hoped he hadn't ruined the mood. This was arguably the most important part of the ritual, and if he was being completely honest with himself, he truly was aching for Hannibal. "My beautiful boy. How would you like it to happen?"

"Let's go with tradition for now."

"Lovely. Lie back."

Will obeyed. For a moment, Hannibal was just leaning over him, kissing him, and the dark, electric presence in the grove grew stronger, rode higher. 

"Yes?" the god murmured against his lips.

"Yes." A breath. "Yes." A kiss. "Yes."

Hannibal smiled, then licked and sucked his way down the insides of Will's thighs, massaging the outer sides with warm, calloused hands. Will swallowed a groan.

When Hannibal reached his entrance, Will's breath hitched, and then that excruciating pleasure was gone for a moment. He heard the jar being unscrewed. 

A finger pressed warm, slick oil into him, and his cock gave a throb that pulsed through his whole body. 

"Relax," Hannibal whispered, and pressed another slick finger inside. He stretched his fingers, then crooked them just so to brush against his prostate, and Will was gone, completely lost in the feeling. He added a third finger. "You're doing very well, my fledgling-no-longer."

"Am I?" he panted, and hoped Hannibal caught the sarcasm in his voice. 

"Very much so."

Apparently not. "Would you mind hurrying up?" 

A long, deep kiss. Hannibal brushed his prostate again and he moaned into his mouth. They broke apart, Hannibal sliding out of him. "I wouldn't mind. Sit up."

Will once again obeyed, straddling him.

Hannibal slicked up his cock and entered him in one long, painful thrust, and they clung to each other for a moment, just breathing. A kiss, a bite into a shoulder, a purpling bruise left on a jaw. For a slow moment, they were together, the air thickening to glue around them. The fire cast heat onto their bodies, making them slippery with sweat. Will curled his toes, drinking in the feeling, imprinting it into his memory, and then every bit of electric tension they had built snapped.

Hannibal pushed him back down and thrust into him again, adjusted himself just so. Thrust again. Will looked up at this man, this god above him, and saw black seeping into his features. Savage teeth revealed themselves when he opened his mouth to gasp.

Antlers flickered into being.

Will's heart beat faster. This was Hannibal's true form, fucking into him slowly, filling him and making him ache, making him scratch tracks into his back. A thrust hit his prostate and he cried out, which enticed the god further. He sped up.

That feeling of delicate lightning spread through Will's entire being, his body, his soul, and he arched his back, gasping. One final thrust and he came, howling like some wild creature.

Hannibal moved twice more and came as well, pulled out and fell to his side. He grinned hard, like an animal baring its teeth.

Will didn't know how long the two laid there panting, the fragrant heat from the fire keeping them both warm, but he did know that he nodded off for a moment and came to wrapped in furs, head against Hannibal's salt-covered chest, with his chest hair tickling his nose.

The god lay still, arms wrapped around Will, and appeared to be asleep. Will was exhausted enough that he didn't question it, just fell back into a deep sleep that lasted until morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me in the wilds of Tumblr at lamby-grahamy. And, since it may be relevant, my pagan blog is ceruleancervines.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed reading as much as I did writing.


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